


That's Not the Game

by longwhitecoats



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Eve is a useless bisexual, F/F, Knifeplay, Truth or Dare, Yuletide Treat, manual sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 21:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17149115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longwhitecoats/pseuds/longwhitecoats
Summary: Set in S01E08, "God, I'm Tired," when Eve is in Villanelle's apartment.





	That's Not the Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alexandria (heartfullofelves)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartfullofelves/gifts).



“Okay,” Eve says. “Um. What should—what should I dare you to do?”

Villanelle just laughs and knocks back another shot of vodka. This is stupid, playing games is stupid, but they’re here in a bed together at last and Eve feels overwhelmingly like she had as a repressed teenager at sleepovers. Which is to say, awkward and a little gay. More than a little gay.

So when Villanelle asked if she wanted to play Truth or Dare, Eve didn’t ask her how she knew that game. She just said yes, grabbed a bottle of alcohol from the fridge, and sliced the top off.

“You should dare me to do something you want,” Villanelle says, her doe eyes glittering. “But of course if you dare me to kill someone, it might take some time.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Eve says immediately. “You wouldn’t—would you?”

“Drink,” Villanelle says, handing over the bottle and a tiny glass.

Eve drinks. The vodka doesn’t taste like anything, which is probably why she’s never liked it. “Okay,” she says, more sure this time. “I dare you to take your shirt off.” She blushes as soon as the words come out, but she doesn’t let herself take it back.

“Jesus. What the fuck are we, teenagers or something? You’ve never seen tits before?” Villanelle pulls her shirt off in one quick yank, bare underneath. Her tits are—Eve swallows. She knows her eyes are flicking back up and down, but she can’t believe she gets to look.

Villanelle cups them in her hands and makes a pouty face. “Aw, they’re so bad you’re afraid to look at them? Don’t feel bad, Mr. Tit. She didn’t mean it.” She leans over and says it conspiratorially, her eyes still fixed on Eve. “Look at my tits, Eve. They won’t hurt you.” She smirks, like maybe they will.

Eve looks. Villanelle’s tits are small and pointed, with big pink nipples that have gotten hard. She wants to touch them so badly.

“Your turn,” Eve says, dry-mouthed. “I mean my turn.”

“Truth or Dare?” Villanelle says, starting to rub her own nipples with her thumbs.

“Uhh. Fuck. Truth,” she says automatically, running on introvert autopilot, before realizing she wishes she’d said _dare_.

But Villanelle seems impressed by this choice. She makes a _hmm_ expression, raising her eyebrows, and stops messing with her tits. She pours another shot of vodka, takes it, and sits with exaggerated thoughtfulness, a cross-legged copy of Rodin’s _Thinker_.

“Why didn’t you drive away from me in the woods?” Villanelle says. “You got out of the car instead. Why?”

The vodka must be going to Eve’s head, because her whole face feels hot and she can’t concentrate. “Um. You mean when I was out there rescuing Frank?”

“Stalling,” Villanelle says, which is fair.

“Yeah. Okay. I just—” Eve doesn’t know how to explain it to Villanelle. She can’t explain it to herself. She wills herself not to try. She’s always lacked a brain-to-mouth filter; maybe that can work in her favor now. “I wanted to see you.”

“Not in a rear view window, you mean.” Villanelle looks positively delighted. “No wonder you dared me to take off my shirt. Any more of me you want to see?”

“Yes,” Eve says, absolutely serious. She realizes she’s leaning forward. “I dare you to take off all of your clothes,” she adds in the same low voice.

Villanelle cocks her head to one side. “That’s not the game. You’re supposed to say ‘Truth or Dare.’”

“Truth or Dare.”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to take off all of your clothes.”

Eve doesn’t blink when she says it. Villanelle’s gaze is both frightening and magnetic. Slowly, without looking away, Villanelle begins to unbutton her pants. Eve hears her heartbeat in her ears.

She’s so delicate, Eve thinks. Even though she knows Villanelle has stabbed grown men to death, fired assault rifles, and broken down doors, Eve can’t help feeling that this body looks small and fragile. She shivers. The deceptive vulnerability of Villanelle’s appearance makes Eve hungry for her touch.

Villanelle smiles. “Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” Eve says, hopeful.

“I dare you to let me fuck you,” Villanelle says.

Eve coughs in surprise. “What? Like—right now?”

“What, you got me fucking naked for some other reason? Is this your first time or some shit?” Seeing the sudden panic on Eve’s face, Villanelle cackles. “Holy shit, Eve Polastri. It _is_ your first time.” She kneels up on the bed and brushes aside the bottle of vodka and the two glasses, which clatter to the floor. Eve can hear the vodka spilling out. “In that case, baby,” Villanelle says, “I _double_ dare you.”

“Okay,” Eve says. “Should I get naked or something?”

“I’ll get you naked, baby,” Villanelle says. The pouty face is back. “Don’t you worry.” She leans in and kisses Eve on the tip of her nose, the way you’d kiss a longtime girlfriend or a much-loved pet. “I hope you’re not attached to those clothes, though. They’re ugly as fuck anyway.”

“What—” Eve says, and then registers the knife in Villanelle’s hand; but she’s already cutting, slicing, the pouty expression replaced by something wild and vicious, and Eve thinks _She’s so beautiful_ and _This is what she looks like when she kills_ before her brain comes up with _Is she stabbing me?_

But she barely feels the knife, except for a few close scratches. When she looks down, her clothes slump halfway off of her body in a single sad motion.

“You cut my clothes off,” she says, and then Villanelle is kissing her, tearing away the remainder of her clothes, and fire rises in Eve’s chest. Her mouth is hard on Eve’s, and she kisses deeply, almost as if she’s trying to inhabit Eve’s body or suck the air from her lungs. It’s been a long time since anyone kissed Eve like this, and she realizes she’s soaking fucking wet and maybe has been for a while.

“Oh god,” Eve says as Villanelle shoves her backward onto the pillows and presses a firm hand on her sternum, pinning her. “God. Fuck. Yes. Yes.”

She feels rather than sees Villanelle’s fingers inside her, just the edge of too much at first, and then Villanelle’s thumb finds her clit and she would have arced off the bed if she weren’t pinned like a butterfly. “Yes, oh god, please. More. Please—” Villanelle raises an eyebrow as if she’s about to make fun of Eve for being needy, but instead she just does it, adds another finger and starts fucking her faster.

Eve thinks briefly of Niko, but only pro forma, as something she thinks she ought to think; Niko is a cold flat image, nothing like this live, feral woman on top of her, filling her, getting her off. Villanelle’s tits are within reach now, so Eve touches them, amazed at how soft they are and how touching them makes Villanelle gasp in apparent pleasure.

“You’re going to come for me,” Villanelle says. “You’re going to come.”

“Yes,” Eve says. “Yes, fuck me harder, oh god, oh _god_ —” She clenches her legs around Villanelle’s hand, feeling the strength of her muscle and bone, and she thinks _That hand has killed_ at exactly the moment the orgasm hits her, and she freezes in a silent scream for so long that everything whites out behind her eyes.

When she comes to, she’s lying on her side, and Villanelle is lying opposite her, caressing her face.

Eve reaches under the pillow for the knife.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my fabulous beta, kutsushita, and thanks to you for being a pinch hitter! <3


End file.
